Christmas 1921
by Patano
Summary: AU crack!fic. My prediction for this year's CS, which unfortunately didn't happen on the show. Warning - contains a lot of Robert and Julian Fellowes' bashing. And a lot of silliness.


_This fic is an extreme crack, but since DA right now is basically a crack!show, I don't think that this scenario is impossible to happen. It was actually written before the CS, hence Matthew is alive in it. Personally, 3x05 was enough for me to stop watching this show._

_**WARNING -**__This oneshot contains Robert bashing and Julian Fellowes bashing.__  
_

* * *

**Christmas 1921**

Robert Crawley was sitting comfortably in his large armchair, stroking Isis behind the ear. The evening was very quiet and peaceful; everything was as it should be. In short - his life was perfect. Mary would soon give birth to a male heir (she and Matthew had such wonderful genes - it was certain that it would be a boy), Cora was back to being an obedient wife under his command, Branson got miraculously quiet (Robert suspected that it was because something had happened, but he couldn't recall what exactly), and Isis was expecting a litter of puppies (yes, he was worried about her, but he personally ensured that she was under the care of the best veterinarian in England and that she had regular check-ups). Thoroughly satisfied with life, Robert decided to take a small, entirely blissful nap.

"M'Lord?"

Robert's eyes opened rapidly, and he saw Carson standing near the armchair and handing him a red envelope.

"This letter has just arrived, m'lord," the old butler announced. He sounded quite worried.

Robert quickly opened the envelope. The letter inside was also written on the red paper, in golden ink. The letters were big and legible: "THE END IS NEAR. LORD J.F."

To say that Lord Grantham was shocked was an understatement. He was very, very happy.

"Good news from Lord Flintshire, Carson. The world is ending," announced Robert joyfully and shook the butler's hand enthusiastically.

"Is this good news, m'lord?" responded a shocked Carson. "But it means… that we… Downton… everything will be destroyed…"

"Don't be silly, Carson. We are going to survive this apocalypse. Downton cannot be destroyed. Downton is a work of many generations, the heritage of all that is best in the human race, the Eldorado, the Heaven on Earth, the centre of mankind and civilisation. How can something like that ever be destroyed. Downton, my dear chap, is immortal. And so are those who live here and abide its rules."

Carson would never dare to contradict his master's words, NEVER, but this time he was slightly doubtful, so the question needed to be asked, "What about Lady Sybil? William? Miss Swire?"

Robert shook his head impatiently, "I had better opinion of your mind, Carson. Don't be silly. It is all totally clear. William got wounded in France, not at Downton. And Lavinia was simply working against the power of the universe. If she had married Matthew, Mary wouldn't become the Countess of Grantham. That would certainly destroy Downton's balance, which would be a transgression of all the rules that are in force here. Pity that you haven't noticed that Carson, but Downton can take of herself."

"What about Lady Sybil, m'lord?"

Lord Grantham became silent. He was deeply in thought.

Five minutes later, Lord Grantham was still thinking. Finally, he spoke in a puzzled voice, "Who is Lady Sybil?"

Carson couldn't find any words to answer his master accordingly.

He didn't need, though, because Robert decided to speak again: "Anyway, whoever she was, I can bet that, similarly to Lavinia, she violated Downton's rules. My darling Downton is a just, but harsh mistress - certain rules must be obeyed. Remember that, Carson."

Carson never doubted his master's words, never. _Lord Grantham is always right even when he isn't right_ - that was his personal motto and rule number 1 among thousand of other rules that he obeyed daily. Yes, Lord Grantham was surely right.

"Very well, m'lord. I think that I will go and tell Mrs Patmore to bake a Christmas cake for Isis."

"Wonderfully said, Carson. That's what I was just about to ask you," Robert smiled condescendingly.

* * *

"But Cousin Robert…" Matthew tried to express his doubts.

"What?" growled Lord Grantham in response.

"I've been just trying to say… that it's Lord **J.**F., not Lord Flintshire," the young man finished in a trembling voice.

"No, my dear chap. You're completely wrong. Shrimpie has simply made a mistake. This letter is for sure from Lord Flintshire because I don't know any other Lord. F," the older man finished triumphantly, glowing with pride at his faultless logic.

"Robert, you don't know all the men in the world and people don't only receive letters from people they personally know. Even at Downton." Matthew Crawley was terrified. His voice was weak and was only getting weaker. He hated to disagree with Cousin Robert. Frankly, he hated to disagree with anyone. This time his fears were totally justified.

"No one has ever received a letter from an unknown source at Downton, Matthew. No one. _Ever_. How dare you even suggest such a thing."

Matthew felt ashamed at this and decided to leave. He knew that Mary would agree with her father; hence, he decided to keep his views to himself.

* * *

"I don't understand why it makes you happy," Tom Branson inquired.

Lord Grantham chuckled, "Because the world outside is coming to an end. It will be only Downton from now on. No change. Now we'll even have a chance to put the clock back and return to how things were done previously."

"You're not interested in what happens to other people? And change…" Tom tried to make a speech, but his father-in-law quickly silenced him.

"Hush, boy. Do not express such views at my home. It hurts the walls, and we want to survive the apocalypse. I'm sure that you don't want anything happening to your daughter."

It worked. Tom became immediately silent. After a while, though, he made another attempt at speech: "Sybil…"

"Sybil who?" came a short and matter-of-fact reply.

There was nothing more for Tom to do than to leave the library in silence.

* * *

In the evening, Robert decided to go on a romantic stroll with Isis. The night was truly enchanting - the snow was white, the stars were yellow, and the sky was dark. Perfect winter night. While he was admiring just how beautiful Downton looked in the winter scenery, he noticed a snop of light coming from the other side of the Downton village. Isis wailed loudly and ran away into darkness. Lord Grantham was left alone to the mercy of the winter evening. He was alone in darkness, outside Downton's gates, without any servants around. Can anyone imagine a more frightening scenario?

For the first time in his life, Robert was trembling like a jelly pudding; he was terrified. And the light was coming closer and closer.

It wasn't just a snop of light, no. Inside the ball of light, there was a bald, smug-faced man dressed in an elegant attire.

"Lord Julian Fellowes, at your service," smiled the newcomer.

"Lord J.F.?" exclaimed Lord Grantham in terror.

"Exactly"

"NO!"

"Yes, my dear Lord Grantham. The time has come." Lord Fellowes' voice was peaceful, but at the same time authoritarian.

"Maybe it has come, but not for Downton," Robert stated, returning to his usual smugness.

"It has come for Downton only," came a matter-of-fact response. "I have no power over the rest of the world, but when it comes to Downton… I'm the Lord of Life and Death, so to speak."

"What about me? I'm the Lord of Downton," answered Robert feebly.

"Don't be an idiot. You're just a puppet in my dollhouse. And so is the rest of your family, including your beautiful and wonderful goddess of a daughter, Lady Mary."

"Why are you doing such a thing?"

"I need a BOOM and a bit of cash. This show does not make any sense anymore anyway. So why not to introduce a BOOM?" Lord Fellowes stated bluntly.

Robert Crawley did not respond to this. He just discovered what "BOOM" exactly meant and was lying on the ground without even the smallest sign of life.

* * *

The destruction was complete. The shower of meteorites fell, the old bulding was completely ruined. No one survived, except for Isis, Lord Grantham's labrador.

In front of their TVs, the viewers sighed with relief: "So, series 3 was just a joke?"

Only Lord Fellowes knows an answer to this, I'm afraid, my dear readers.


End file.
